Preludes and Interludes
by bkwrmnlvnit
Summary: Samuel Morgan is five years old when he becomes an older brother. (Or, a series of stories, mostly out of order, focusing on the Drake brothers.)
1. Genesis

**A/N: Hey guys! I'm kind of obsessed with Uncharted 4 and the Drake brothers and the adventure family right now and I wanted to write a bunch of fics and stuff for them, and this is the first one I came up with so…maybe more to come? Hope you guys enjoy. : )**

* * *

 **02:06 A.M., 9 DECEMBER, 1976**

The morning Nathan is born, it rains.

From where he stands in the waiting room of the hospital, Sam looks out the window almost desperately, watches the water splattering the street, listens to the sound of it pounding against the stones as he leans his head against the glass. In comparison to the stifling heat of the hospital, the pane is refreshingly cool, almost comforting, far more reassuring than the father sitting in the chair in the corner with his fingers laced together, glaring periodically over at Sam as if to accuse him of this whole situation somehow being his fault.

As if he's been cued, Levi Morgan clears his throat pointedly and lowers his magazine. "Samuel," he begins, "why aren't you sitting down like I told you to?"

Sam angles his face to look towards his father and ignores the question. "What's taking Mom so long?"

His father sighs. "She's giving birth, Samuel. It takes time."

"How long? We've been here forever."

"We've been here three hours. Forever is a lot longer."

"It feels like forever," Sam disagrees, frowning out the window at the moon glistening off the streets.

"It isn't," Dad says again. "Now sit down."

Sam doesn't sit. He shifts his weight, then looks at Dad again. "Why aren't we with Mom?"

"Because she doesn't want you watching," Dad says, and he sounds tired. "Sit down."

Sam shakes his head. "I don't want to."

Dad puts his head in his hands, massaging his temple briefly, the way Mom does when she has a headache. "Samuel-"

"I'm just watching the rain."

"I know what you're doing, and I'm telling you to-"

A door opens, cutting off Dad's response. "Levi Morgan?" The nurse standing in the doorway is youthful, dark eyes and tan skin and short hair tied back into a ponytail so small Sam almost wonders what the point of it is.

His father stands. "Yes?"

The nurse smiles, and Sam thinks she looks almost relieved. "Your wife is asking for you and your son. She wants to see you."

Dad's eyebrow quirks up. "Is she out of labour?"

The nurse's smile widens, her eyes brightening with her facial expression. "She is indeed, Mr. Morgan. Congratulations." She pauses, opening the door wider to allow for them to enter. "I'll let her tell you the specifics. If you would follow me?"

Dad nods, looking stunned, and he beckons Sam to follow him and this time, Sam listens, abandoning his perch by the window and following his father's lead through the winding hallways of the hospital to a room with a piece of paper taped on the wall reading _Cassandra Morgan._

When they enter the room, Sam notices immediately how tired Mom looks. She's slouched against the pillows, her hair plastered to her forehead, looking pale and exhausted as she holds a small bundle of something in her arms. Her eyes are tired but open, and they brighten as they set upon Sam. "Hey," she says, smiling softly. "I was wondering when you two were going to be here."

Sam nods his agreement. "So was I."

Mom doesn't get a chance to respond before Dad moves to stand near her side, smoothing her hair back against her forehead with a gentleness that Sam was always surprised to remember he possessed. "Cassandra," he says, "how are you?"

Her smile broadens briefly, and her shoulders twitch in the barest implication of a shrug. "Tired," she admits, "but well." She lifts the bundle in her arms gently. "Meet our newest son."

An expression Sam can't decipher flicks across his father's face as he looks toward the bundle. "Son," he repeats, almost curiously. "Nathan, then?"

Mom nods. "Nathan William Morgan," she confirms, and lifts him slightly. "Here, do you want to-?"

"Of course." Smoothly, Dad takes the baby from Mom's arms, holding him against his chest and looking down at him. "Hey there," he begins, but before he can say another word, Nathan starts to wail.

Sam has to bite back a laugh, unable to disagree. Anytime he's near Dad, he feels like screaming too. "Hey now," Dad says, but Nathan's crying only intensifies, and after a few minutes of no progress, resignation settles into the outline of his shoulders as he turns to face Mom. "Here," he says, moving to hand Nathan back, "I think he likes you better."

Mom holds up a hand before Nathan can settle back in her arms. "Let Sam hold him," she instructs, looking toward her older son. She sees the surprise and doubt on his face, and she smiles. "Go ahead," she assures him, "you'll be fine. I promise."

Dad looks just as doubtful as Sam feels, but neither of them are about to argue with Mom, and when he lays the baby in Sam's arms and tells him to be careful, Sam has to resist the urge to snap at the reminder. It's not as if he's intentionally going to break his brother – it's accidents they need to worry about.

At first, Nathan's screaming continues at its typical fevered pitch, and now that he's getting the full force of his baby brother's vocal cords, Sam has to marvel at how something so small is capable of making so much noise. "Hey there, Nathan," he says, "you got a nice voice there. Think you can keep it down?" Nathan – _predictably,_ Sam realises – doesn't respond, and his screaming continues. Unsure of what to do, Sam resorts to instinct, and he carefully bounces the baby the way he's seen some of the moms in the market do it, careful to not shake him too much.

It takes a moment, but shortly after he starts to bounce Nathan, he notices the crying starts to quiet. He almost doesn't believe it at first, but after a few minutes, Nathan has almost stopped crying completely, and he's staring up at Sam looking wonderstruck.

A smile creeps its way across Sam's face, half-surprised and half awed. "You like that, huh?" he whispers, bouncing Nathan again, and when his little brother laughs, Sam looks up at Mom in absolute joy.

Dad looks uncertain, but Mom's eyes are dancing with light. "He likes you," she says softly, and Sam smiles.

* * *

 **A/N: Nate's middle name comes from a headcanon of mine that the boys have middle names based on explorers. Nate's comes from William Clark. Sam's is Christopher, after Columbus.**


	2. Swimming Lessons

**A/N: So the setting for this is really ambiguous, mostly because I couldn't think of a specific time/place for this to take place, so sorry about that. Anyway, I picture this as happening sometime around a year or so after the flashback from the game. Hope you enjoy!**

 _Summary: Sam teaches Nate how to swim._

 **Credit to destielydia and her little!Nate anon on tumblr for the idea!**

* * *

The sun is high and burning hot, and as Sam rounds the top of the dunes, he grins. "Well, would you look at that?" he says, unhooking one of his thumbs from the strap of his backpack to gesture broadly at the ocean glittering before them as he turns to look at Nathan. "Whaddya think?"

Nathan's eyes are wide and reflect back the sea, and Sam can tell he's trying hard to not look impressed, but it's not especially effective. His brother has many things, but a good poker face isn't one of them. "It's massive," Nathan notes, and Sam can hear the repressed awe in his voice.

He smirks and nudges Nathan's shoulder. "Yeah, well. It _is_ the ocean," he points out, and when Nathan gives him a look, he just grins wider and nods toward the blue expanse at the bottom of the dunes. "Come on, I'll race you," he says, and Nathan opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get a word out, Sam's already gone. "Last one to the water is a rotten egg!" he calls behind him, and he hears Nathan say something explicit before he starts to run too.

Sam may be the better liar, but Nathan's always been the faster runner, and even with his head start, it doesn't take long before his little brother catches up. He manages to keep pace for a moment before Nathan starts to slip ahead, and Sam swears internally as he tries to think of a strategy for regaining his lead but before he gets a chance to come up with anything solid, the loose ground under Nathan's feet slips, sending him tumbling to the ground. It happens too fast for any kind of reaction, and right after Nathan falls, Sam trips on him and follows him down, both of them rolling the rest of the way to the waiting sand of the beach below.

There's a brief moment at the bottom when neither of them moves, instead being content to groan and lament the miraculous knot of limbs they're currently stuck in. It's Sam who recovers first, and he shakes Nathan's legs from off of his, sitting up and shaking his head, looking over as his little brother props himself on an elbow and does the same. "Nice wrestling moves you got there, Nathan," Sam notes wryly. "You been practicing without me?"

His response is an emphatic eye-roll and a snort. "Yeah, right," Nathan mutters, blinking the last of the stars out of his eyes and scooting away from Sam so that their previous entanglement is completely resolved. His gaze moves to trace over the light-tipped waves, and in his eyes, Sam can see both awe and trepidation. "It's so huge," he breathes, like he can't quite believe it.

The smirk that finds its way onto Sam's face is entirely unintentional, but he makes no attempt to remove it, and he nods as he looks away from Nathan to stare at the water himself. "Yeah, it is," he agrees. For a brief moment, there's an admiring silence, but it doesn't last long before Sam breaks it, looking back over to his brother with a quicksilver grin and the sun in his eyes. "Wanna look around a bit?"

Nathan takes his eyes off the ocean to look at Sam, raising a confused eyebrow. "What do you mean?" There's no response, but when Sam starts to untie his shoes, everything clicks and Nathan shakes his head. "No way," he says. "Sam, I can't swim."

Sam's response is a grin. "Well, we all gotta learn sometime," he says, peeling off one sock and setting it to the side, shifting his attention to the other foot. "C'mon, Nathan. It'll be fun."

"Yeah, until I wind up drinking salt water," Nathan disagrees, his gaze flickering between the water and his brother.

"You're not supposed to _drink_ the ocean, you're supposed to swim in it," Sam points out, not stopping.

"I'm not going to _try_ to drink it, it'll probably just happen-"

"Look," Sam says, setting his second shoe to the side and pausing. "I know water isn't really your thing-"

Nathan snorts. "Oh, really?"

"-but you need to know how to swim," Sam finishes. He fixes Nathan with a steady look, temporarily slipping into a more serious mood to combat the wariness on his brother's face. "We're adventurers, remember?" he says, nudging Nathan. "We gotta go on the water sometimes, and I need to know that you can take care of yourself if you gotta swim to shore."

There's a brief moment of silence, and Sam has to fight the urge to give his brother a comforting pat on the back when he notes the tell-tale tick of the jaw that means Nathan's biting the inside of his cheek. He blinks hard for a moment, then looks away to the water, and Sam gives a sympathetic smile, one corner of his mouth quirking up. Grabbing his nearby sock, he balls it up and tosses it lightly at Nathan's chest. "C'mon," he says. "I don't want to be soaking wet when it starts to cool down around here."

His piece said, Sam returns to taking off his other sock, not looking at Nathan. He's well aware by now that sometimes Nathan just needs a moment to psyche himself up before he can dive into these things, and he's not about to push the issue. Sure enough, after another minute, Nathan sighs, and Sam tries to keep the smile off his face as he stands and removes his shirt, then makes his way over to the water, wading in with his shorts still on until he's hip deep before turning to wait.

Nathan's first steps into the water are hesitant, uncertain, and Sam smiles reassuringly. "You got this," he says. "You're doing fine." Nathan nods in a way that Sam knows means he's not at all confident about the situation but he's not about to admit that, but he doesn't comment on the situation.

When Nathan's out far enough that the water's at his chest, Sam stops him, holding up a hand. "Alright," he begins, "first things first is the basic stuff. Floating is about as basic as it gets. If you can't swim for some reason, just float, and I'll come get you as soon as I can, alright?" Nathan nods, and Sam continues. "Now the thing about floating is that the less you think about it, the better it works. The water's going to hold you up, alright, so you don't have to kick or anything. See, like this," he explains, demonstrating and leaning back, letting the water swing his legs up so that he's staring up at the sky. _It's really blue today,_ he notes almost absently, briefly allowing himself to marvel at the weather. _This is some gorgeous sunlight._

 _Focus, Sam,_ he reminds himself after nearly a minute has passed, shaking his head and letting the weight return to his limbs, standing again. Water streams down into his face, and he has to blink hard for a few seconds when it runs into his eyes because _damn,_ he's forgotten how much salt water stings. He smiles at Nathan anyway, gesturing to the water. "Now you try."

Nathan gives a slow nod, not saying anything. Sam watches carefully as Nathan steels himself, then lets his legs go out from under him. For a second, Sam thinks that this might actually work, and then he sees the panic flash across his brother's face at the sudden sensation that he's no longer connected to the ground. Nathan kicks out instinctively, flailing, and his head ducks underwater in panic.

"Hey!" Sam lunges for Nathan, grabbing his arm and helping him stand as he surfaces spluttering from below the water. He opens his mouth for air instantly, gasping, but instead of air he gets a mouthful of salt-water and he starts to cough. Startled, Sam knocks him hard on the back a couple times, watching his younger brother in concern. "Hey, hey, hey," he scolds, "the point is that you _don't_ drown. Come on, cough it out, Nathan, I've got you."

When Nathan finally calms down a minute later, Sam's hand is still on his back, and he looks at his brother in concern. "You okay?" he asks, searching his brother's face.

Nathan nods, coughing out one last bit of water from his lungs. "I'm fine," he says, blinking hard, his eyes red with salt water and his voice sounding somewhat hoarse. "Let me just…try that again."

Sam narrows his eyes, studying Nathan for a moment to make sure he's not hiding any kind of injury or ailment. After a moment, he consents, letting go of Nathan's shoulder. "Alright," he says, stepping back, "go for it. Just let yourself go limp," he instructs. "The water will hold you, I promise."

Nathan nods again, taking a deep breath. He clamps his eyes shut again and lets his legs go from under him, and Sam watches warily in expectation, but this time he doesn't panic and he floats, just like he's supposed to. He keeps his breath held though, looking so focused for a moment that Sam finds himself abruptly torn between brotherly pride and the urge to laugh hysterically at Nathan's facial expression, and he's saved from deciding which one to do when a moment later, Nathan opens his eyes in shock and lets out his breath. "Hey," he says, sounding surprised, "it's working!"

Sam smirks and nods, grinning at his brother. "Told you you could do it," he says as Nathan's feet touch down and he stands up again. "Nothing to it, right?"

Nathan looks shocked as he nods, a crooked smile creeping across his face. "Nothing to it."

Sam smiles, clapping Nathan on the back. "Now then," he says, "onto some other things."


	3. Parting Ways

**A/N: I was watching someone play Uncharted 4, and since he kept dying, I kept hearing Sam react to Nate dying. That mixed with me wondering how Nate wound up solo in Cartagena to meet Sully. This is the result. Enjoy!**

 **Warnings:** Coarse language, blood

 _Summary: Sneaking into the pirate exhibit goes wrong._

* * *

The first shot the guards fire is a warning, and it buries into the roof tiles just in front of Sam's feet.

" _Shit!"_ he yells as the shrapnel startles him off his rhythm, leaves him to scramble violently and almost fall before catching his balance and resuming his run across the museum roof. _Dammit, I knew I should have checked for silent alarms!_ "Nathan, you still with me?"

From behind him, Nathan's voice is loud but terrified. "Yeah," he yells, "just keep moving!"

"Yeah, you got it – this way, Nathan!" Sam sees his opportunity and jumps at it, literally, sweaty palms clasping around the decorative flag pole which currently flies no flag at all, swinging off of it and slamming into the ground.

The impact is jarring, but he rolls into the momentum and keeps running, eyes desperately picking out the escape routes in the shadows. They settle quickly on a stone wall at the edge of the property, one with plenty of grips that he and Nathan can scale in eight seconds flat and escape over, and relief floods into his veins only to be replaced by the cold reality of the knowledge that they're still not out of this yet.

"That wall over there," he yells, "we can climb it! Come on!"

"Got it!" Nathan calls back, and Sam wants to check behind him and see how he's holding up, but that's a luxury neither of them can afford right now. _Almost there,_ he tells himself. _We'll get over that wall and run like hell, and when we're in some back alley three miles off we'll laugh and pretend this never happened._

Another gunshot cracks from behind him, splitting the night apart, then another, and he swears violently as he increases his speed, throwing himself at the stone wall as he reaches it and starts to climb.

Then there is another shot, and Nathan screams.

Sam almost twists his ankle spinning around as he simultaneously falls from the wall. _"Nathan!"_ he roars, his brother's name tearing from somewhere in his lungs before he even thinks about it, and he watches Nathan's hands fly to his side as he crumples and falls to the ground, illuminated by the distant glow of police flashlights. The thought that he's been shot doesn't even have time to register. Sam's already running.

He reaches Nathan's side in moments and skids to a halt, all but falling beside him. "Nathan," he yells, "oh shit, _Nathan."_ Already his shirt is stained dark red across the stomach, and something twists inside Sam's chest.

"No, Nathan," he whispers, shaking his head as he moves his brother's hands aside to replace them with his own, "no, goddammit, _no._ " Nathan's curled up around himself, and Sam can see him holding his jaw clenched tight against the pain but tears are still tracking down his face. When Sam presses harder, Nathan lets out a pained yelp that hits him like a slap to the face, but he doesn't stop, can't stop. A thousand thoughts flash through his head, thoughts about how dangerous bullet wounds in the stomach can be, about how they're new here and don't have any contacts, much less contacts with enough medical knowledge to fix this, about how the guards are getting closer and Nathan can't walk and he can't run with both of them together, and every thought ties together into a single road and a single logical conclusion at the end of it.

The guards run toward the both of them at full tilt, their guns still up and their flashlights still in their hands, beams dancing on the museum lawn. Sam doesn't think, doesn't hesitate, just throws himself to his feet with his hands in the air as the guards approach. "I'm not armed," he says, "I'm not armed, I swear to God- You gotta help my brother, please, he's just a kid and he's been hit-"

One of the guards heads straight for Sam, shoves him roughly to the ground, and he lets himself fall. He pats him down for contraband and slaps handcuffs on his wrists, but he isn't paying attention, doesn't notice because he's too focused on the other guards, the ones hovering around Nathan with fear in their voices as they bark into their walkie-talkies into a line he can only assume is 911.

The guard who put the cuffs on Sam snaps his fingers to get his attention, says something he can't make out, even though the guard's right in front of him, even though he's yelling. The world is blurring around the edges and he can't look at Nathan, and Sam thinks he's being read his Miranda rights but he's not sure and he doesn't care, because inside his head, everything is slowing down and fading out into white noise.

Sirens start to scream in the distance. On the ground, an officer begins CPR.

* * *

The room where they're holding him is sterile white and cold as hell, and he wouldn't give one singular fuck if it was bright yellow instead. Sam's hands are shaking even with how hard he has them clasped together, the knuckles white and straining against the skin. He wants to pace, to scream, to break something, but he doesn't. Instead, he bows his head and gives another silent prayer to any God that might be listening, desperately hoping that even if all merciful deities abandoned the both of them a long time ago, they'll be willing to listen just this once and bring Nathan back.

The sound of the door opening makes him flinch, and his head shoots up as an officer enters the room. The words are out of his mouth before he even thinks. "How's Nathan?"

The officer looks at him with some expression that's either pissed off or pitying, her eyebrows furrowed as a frown carves down her face. "Your brother is in surgery in the Intensive Care Unit," she says plainly. "He has been for an hour."

The blood drains from Sam's face and the knot inside his chest tangles up even more. "Do they think he's gonna be alright?"

Her face is stone. "They're not sure."

The world is spinning again. Sam's shoulders slump as he rests his heads against his hands. The whispered prayer that hung on his lips has become a silent mantra of expletives, _shit shit shit_ over and over and over again. Heat stings the back of his eyes and he clamps them shut because dammit, he's not going to cry in front of this woman, he's not going to cry for Nathan because he isn't _dead_ and he's not going to be any time soon, and because Sam can't imagine trying to live in a world where his own damn stupidity got his little brother killed.

"Samuel," the woman says, drawing him back to the present. Sam inhales another shuddering breath, the air rattling in his lungs. _Focus,_ he tells himself, _get it together._

He tenses his jaw and inhales again, looking up to meet her eyes. He says nothing, _can_ say nothing, but he nods, and she accepts it as due response.

"You understand that you were caught illegally on private property after-hours, don't you?" she says, and Sam swallows hard, looking at the wall because he doesn't want to look at her face as he gives a short nod.

"You know what that means?" Another nod.

The officer sighs. Sam gets the brief sense that she's exasperated, but he finds it very hard to care. There's a moment of silence before he manages to speak, and when he does, he still doesn't look at her. "I'll tell you all about it," he says, "but you gotta promise me one thing, alright?"

The officer gives him a look that says she's far from amused by the fact that he's trying to barter when he's at a clear disadvantage. "And that is?"

"You let me tell Nathan goodbye before I head off," he says.

Her face is impassive, but Sam thinks he sees a flash of pity in her eyes for a moment. "Your brother may not be awake for days-"

"I don't care."

"-and when he does wake up, we'll have to question him," she continues, giving him a pointed look.

Sam nods. "I know. But he's not gonna say anything unless he's talked to me first anyway, and he's stubborn as hell when it comes to that." The expression on her face reminds him once again how much he hates talking to cops, but he doesn't say anything because he knows it's his fault they're stuck like this anyway, and dealing with the condescension and judgments is the least he deserves at this point. "Look," he says instead, "I know you think we're gonna try and plan some great escape or something, but we're not. You can monitor us if you want, I just- You gotta let me tell him goodbye."

She frowns. "Your brother lost a considerable amount of blood because of that bullet. Chances that he's going to-"

"He'll be fine," Sam says, cutting her off before she can do something terrible like putting _Nathan_ and _dead_ together in the same sentence.

"And if he isn't? Samuel-"

"If he isn't, then I won't talk to him," Sam spits out finally, because he's tired of this conversation and this room and this woman, and he hates how his voice cracks at the thought but he can't help the fact that the idea of Nathan being dead is the last thing he's ever wanted to consider in a lifetime of unthinkable things.

The officer leans back in her chair and fixes him with a long look. Sam closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, exhales slowly as he opens his eyes again. "Just…Just let me see him, alright? Please."

There's a long pause, and for a moment, Sam is worried that she'll just leave him here to think about his actions and his words some more, as if he hasn't already thought about them more than enough. _Please,_ he thinks again, though he's not even sure who he's pleading with at this point, _please, just let me see Nathan again._

Across the table, the woman lets out a soft sigh as she places her hands on the table. Sam can't read the expression on her face, and it doesn't seem like it's an expression he'd want to understand either. "Damn kids," she mutters softly under her breath, so low he can barely hear it, and she looks at Sam. "I'll see what I can do," she agrees, her voice flat, "but it may not be much."

Inhale, exhale. _I'll see what I can do._

It's the best he can hope for. It's certainly better than what he deserves.

"Okay," he says softly, and he tells her the truth.

* * *

It's three days before Nathan finally wakes up, and five days before they let Sam into see him. They take the cuffs off outside the door to Nathan's room, but they keep a guard posted outside to receive Sam when he leaves. He thinks, maybe a bit sardonically, that notoriety may not be all it's cracked up to be after all, but the time to entertain that thought isn't now, because now he's stepping through the door into a room with pastel colouring and the clouds on the ceiling – _a children's room,_ he thinks, because despite his maturity Nathan is still only fourteen, still just a child – and Nathan is sitting up with his face toward the window and Sam's so damn relieved that he thinks he might just pass out.

Nathan looks towards the door as it opens, and his eyes widen when he sees who it is. "Sam?" he says, like he doesn't quite believe it.

Sam forces a smile onto his face through sheer strength of will, and he's not sure that it quite reaches his eyes but damn, does he try. "Hey there, little brother. How you feeling?"

Nathan tries to straighten up instantly from his slouch, clearly agitated, and he ignores Sam's question entirely, shaking his head. "Sam, where is this? Why are we here instead of-?"

"Hey, hey, easy there, Nathan. You'll tear your stitches." Sam crosses the room to stand directly by Nathan's bedside, and he lays a hand on his shoulder, half for Nathan's benefit and half for his own. It's so much easier to believe that they're both actually okay when he can feel Nathan's presence tangibly, and it's that very fact that makes him certain that the next year is going to be hard on the both of them. _I fucked up,_ he thinks, not for the first time, and then he pushes the thought away.

On the bed, Nathan's settled down, and Sam smiles at him. "Don't worry about that stuff right now, alright? You just worry about yourself." He lets go of Nathan, then reaches for the chair in the corner of the room, dragging it up beside his brother's bedside. "Now then, how you feeling?"

Nathan makes a face and looks away. "Like I got shot," he mutters, and Sam winces internally.

"Yeah, well," he says, still forcing that same smile, "that's because you did." He studies Nathan's face and feels his smile slipping away. "You scared the shit out of me, Nathan," he murmurs.

Nathan twitches uncomfortably, shrugging. "Sorry," he says, following the words with an awkward silence like he's not quite sure what to say next.

The corner of Sam's mouth twitches up almost instinctively as he nudges his brother's shoulder. "Nah," he says, "don't worry about it. Just don't make it a habit, huh?"

Nathan smiles a bit at that and nods, but the smile fades away far quicker than Sam wishes it would. "Hey Sam," he says, and Sam braces himself for the question that he knows is coming. "How did we make it to a hospital? You couldn't have carried me…"

Sam looks away, feels his shoulders slump as he blows out a long breath. So much for one last conversation. "No," he admits quietly. "No, I couldn't."

"Then how-?"

"I was arrested, Nathan," Sam says, and he can taste the bitterness in his mouth even as he says it. He doesn't want to be giving this news, not ever and certainly not now, when they should be celebrating the fact that they've both lived to die another day. "They caught up to us, and they arrested me and took you here."

Nathan's eyes widen with the realization. "Oh, _shit,_ " he says. "Crap, Sam, now what? What did you tell them? What's our story?"

"I told 'em the truth, Nathan." Sam watches shock flash across Nathan's face, but he doesn't stop speaking. "There wasn't any way around it. They saw us, they caught us. Not even I can lie my way out of that one."

Nathan shakes his head a little, still in shock as he exhales disbelievingly. "So now what? When are we sneaking out?"

"We're not."

"Then what's going to happen?" Nathan demands, the panic in his voice rising. "What are we gonna do?"

Sam props his elbows on the bed, leans his face against his hands. As much as he wants to put on a tough front right now, it's too much effort and Nathan is going to see right through it anyway. He wants to tell Nathan he has a plan, that he's going to get them out of this, but he can't because he doesn't. There is no great scheme he can think up now, only dealing with what they've been dealt. "We're just gonna have to go with it, Nathan," he says softly, and he takes a deep breath before continuing with what he's been able to piece together from talking to the officers. "Right now, it's looking like I'll probably be put in jail for a while. Six months, maybe a year." Another deep breath. "As for you, they're gonna put you back in the system, see if they can find you some better influences."

Nathan's eyes look like something inside him is breaking, and he shakes his head hard. "No. No, Sam,I don't want to go back to that-"

"I'm sorry, Nathan, you have to-"

"I wanna stay with you!"

"You can't, Nathan, I'm _sorry,_ " Sam says for what feels like the millionth time, not that it's changing anything or doing anyone a damn bit of good.

Nathan, for his part, looks like he's given up. His shoulders slump and he doesn't look at Sam, not that he can be blamed for that. Sam doesn't much like to look at himself some days either, certainly not on days like today.

There's a silence then, heavy and hanging in the air like thunderclouds. Sam wants to break it, but there's nothing to say, and Nathan looks like he probably wouldn't notice either way at this rate. Still, he has to try.

"Hey Nathan," he says, and his brother twitches. "Why don't you keep an ear out while you wait for any cool exhibits we can check out, huh?" He nudges his brother. "Then once I'm out, we'll go track 'em down, give 'em a look, see what we can find out. How's that sound?" He smiles. "Maybe here in a few years, we can actually track down that treasure."

Nathan gives a small shrug, then nods. Sam figures it's the best he's going to get, but he tries to be reassuring again anyway. "It's only a year, Nathan," he says. "A year, maybe a year and a half, and once I'm out, I'll come find you again."

Nathan locks eyes with him for nearly the first time since this whole conversation began. "Promise?"

Sam smiles, just a bit. "Yeah, course I do."

There's a knock, and the door to the room opens. It's the officer, checking in on them. "Mr. Drake," she says, "it's time for us to leave."

Sam nods, fights to keep the slump from his shoulders. "Yeah, alright," he says instead, "I'll be right there." He turns to face Nathan again, searching for words to say, and he's surprised when his brother all but launches himself at Sam's arms before he can even think of anything.

"Hey, hey, Nathan, it's okay," he says, hugging him hard. "It's gonna be fine. _Sic parvis magna,_ remember? We're gonna get through this." He's rambling before he can stop himself. "Now you be good for the social workers, you hear? Don't be like me and run away all the time, they don't like it. I'm gonna find you once I'm out, I promise." Nathan nods into Sam's shoulder, but says nothing. "I'm gonna come back for you, Nathan. I will."

Another nod. There's several more silent seconds before Sam forces himself to let go, because someone has to and he knows Nathan won't. He looks at his brother, and there are tears in Nathan's eyes. Sam gives him another quick, playful nudge, smiling even though he knows it looks pained. "Love you, little brother," he says, and Nathan nods.

Sam stands. There's nothing left for him to say, nothing Nathan can say, and when the door closes behind him, creating yet another barrier between him and Nathan, it takes every ounce of logic and self-preservation he has to not open it back up, to not try to fight his way out of this hospital with his brother to keep them from getting split up again.

But it's too late for running now.

The officer leads him away.


End file.
